


out of feathers, out of bones

by perrysian, ryssabeth



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Friendship, Gen, Therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-06
Updated: 2013-04-06
Packaged: 2017-12-07 16:29:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/750589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perrysian/pseuds/perrysian, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryssabeth/pseuds/ryssabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire attends mandatory therapy for anxiety and addiction. Marius seeks counselling for depression and social issues. They meet somewhere in the middle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	out of feathers, out of bones

**Author's Note:**

> A mad collaboration between tumblr users camelonajourney and avagueambitioninyourdirection.

Eight days sober, and Grantaire already knew this was a bad idea. Why did he think he could give up the alcohol. Even heading out the door this morning without liquid courage was nearly impossible. Have way to the bus stop and he could feel the anxiety building like a vice grip around his lungs and squeezing.

The waiting room was close to empty, thankfully. The fewer people commenting on his shaking hands and pallor the better. Grantaire debated giving up, going home, and drinking himself to sleep. It’d be the first rest in a long time if he did. The only reason he was here was the ombudsman’s requirement, but fuck that, he didn’t need school. Nobody would care if he dropped out, everyone expected it of him anyway, he’d only be living down to expectation.

Trying to breathe deeply, with hitching lungs, Grantaire dug his fingers into the backs of his thighs where he sat on his hands to keep from biting his nails to the quick or pulling at his hair. He glanced at the other patient across from him in the too small waiting room. The other young man was glancing as well, and they momentarily locked gazes. Grantaire went back to staring at his knees.

“Um. Hello.”

“Hi,” he mumbled back, biting the inside of his lip so hard he nearly broke the skin. He should just go. He didn’t want to be here, even if he needed to be.

“Your first time here?”

“Yes.”

“Who are you seeing?”

“Valjean.”

“Oh! I hear he’s good. I’m with Javert instead, though.”

“Great.”

“Are you nervous?”

“Fucking grade-a observation,” Grantaire bit out with a hard stare.

“Sorry.”

They sat in silence until Grantaire’s phone chimed, the alarm he set for ten minutes before his appointment, to give himself enough time to cancel and escape if he so chose. He was close to just leaving without any indication at all, but it seemed unnecessarily rude. It wasn’t Valjean’s fault he was too fucked up to fix.

“Planning your exit route?”

“What?”

“I think everyone does it their first time. I know I did. This is my third therapist and the first I didn’t run out on.”

“Good for you.”

“I’m saying, I get it. You think you can handle it on your own, right? That you should be able to cope without help, but you’re here, whether on your own or because you were made to be here. You’re here. No one’s going to judge you, but you. If you don’t take the help, you’ll regret it and you know it.”

“I thought I was supposed to be lying on a couch for this bit.”

“Valjean doesn’t have couches, I heard. Just mats of the floor to help the zen flow through you.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“Yes I am.”

And they both laughed. Surprisingly, Grantaire’s breathing started evening out bit by bit.

“I’m Marius Pontmercy,” Marius said offering his hand. Grantaire took it, and Marius didn’t even flinch at the clammy feel of Grantaire’s palm. His grip was strong and sure, but gentle, hands well kept with calluses, and soft by nature than by intervention.

“Grantaire. Or, R.”

“Capital R?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s funny.”

“Yeah.”

“Grantaire?” A large man with salt and pepper hair, a kind face, and big hands, appeared. “I’m Doctor Valjean. I’m ready for you, if you are?”

 

“Yeah. Sure, Doc.”

“Good luck,” Marius cheered him on.

“Yeah. Thanks. You, too.”

When Grantaire entered the office, his hands weren’t even shaking.

-

Marius watches Grantaire go, rubbing his palms against his jeans, swallowing against the wave of nausea that comes with the loneliness he can’t explain. But he feels better, just then--and he likes to think that perhaps it was because he worked himself up to talking to the stranger. And it could be that they won’t be strangers anymore, at some point--wouldn’t that be grand?

(But why would he be friends with you?)

Depression, of course, doesn’t have a voice--it just sounds like himself, cold and quiet and resigned. It keeps his tongue pinned to the roof of his mouth with frozen glue. But today--today he had defeated it, if only marginally, by speaking to Grantaire. Though the voice is still chilly, and it certainly still exists, he has made a step forward. And that is something spectacular.

(And he gives credit where credit is due--it is thanks to Doctor Javert, despite his forcefulness and his rigidity. He reigns in Marius’ dislike of himself and his isolation and ties it up with rope.)

It only takes a few moments of waiting--or it could take longer, Marius has always had a habit of spacing out too much when he ought to be doing other things. But it feels like moments, rather than like minutes, until a small receptionist steps into the waiting room with a hesitant smile. Marius tries his best to smile back--and he thinks he succeeds.

“Doctor Javert is ready for you Marius.”

“Thank you,” he replies, with emphasis on both words. He is very grateful for her time. Time spent on him sometimes feels wasted, and he wants her to know that he understands. He stands and follows her down the hall, past the offices of a few other therapists, before she stops at his own. He steps in, finding Javert at his desk--cherrywood and very professional--before the older man gestures to the not-quite-plastic but not-quite-upholstered chair before it.

The receptionist is gone when Marius enters, shutting the door behind him to take his seat.

“How are you doing, Marius?” Javert is brisk, and a little impersonal, but he’s not bad at his job. (He takes it very seriously--and Marius is grateful for that too.) “Have you been writing down good things in your day?”

“Yes sir,” he says quietly, his back straight against the not-cushion of the chair. “I think it’s been helping.”

“Good,” Javert sets aside his pen and leans forward. “Then let’s begin today’s session, shall we? Tell me your list and explain the reason behind each.”

(Marius adds Grantaire to the bottom of his list--it counts. It was before the session. 

And he feels the stone of sadness in his chest float. Just a little.)


End file.
